


Of Berries and Bards

by ArchaicAsterism



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aion!Ciri, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Attempt at Humor, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Geralt and Jaskier are platonic soulmates, Hades and Persephone AU, Hades!Yennefer, Hephaestus!Geralt, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Persephone!Jaskier, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Reincarnation (Kind of)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26101609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchaicAsterism/pseuds/ArchaicAsterism
Summary: "You are my sun, my light, and my life. I am yours as you are mine"One cannot be without the other—day and night, black and white, Jaskier and Yennefer. Two souls entwined within each other, as-is, and always will be.--Or, my super self-indulgent greek mythology AU
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Canon?? Who's she? And just so no one's confused, I'll be messing around with the timeline a bit! I'm not a professional writer by any means, so please ignore any huge technical errors!! This is nonbeta'd, so all mistakes on spelling and grammar are my own. Enjoy! :))

The warmth of the sun was always something she had avoided. It was harsh and bright, ebbing away at the cold exterior she presented the world. It was homely and warm. Soft. The sun was her opposite in every way.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was the new name gifted to her on the eve of her birth. Her mother whispered it to the back of her crooked spine, eyes teary, holding the babe to her chest. It was then that she knew, her daughter was doomed to live amongst the shadows. But as she grew, Yennefer had come to like the dark. She preferred the chill of darkness as moonlight hid away all her insecurities. She often found herself lying under the night sky, letting the stars twinkle and shine above her. She felt beautiful here, under the everloving gaze of the waxing moon. Darkness was her constant. It was her tether. It was dark the day she was born, and it was dark the day she was reborn on that chair in Aretuza. She knew that there was power in the night and if anything, Yennefer had always loved power.

\--

Julian Alfred Pankratz was born to a wealthy family in Lettenhove on one of the hottest days of the year. Unlike any babe before him, he did not cry. Instead, a tiny smile rested on his pale pink lips. He seemed content, at ease. With proud eyes, his mother gazed down at her newborn son, warmth blanketing her body like a hug from the sun itself.

Julian grew to be a rather rowdy child, loud, and charismatic. He was almost always outside, basking in the warmth of the sun and laying among the flowers in the field. The boy was social, flitting from person to person, charming men and women alike. He played music, playful tunes between lessons on a borrowed flute. Whistles at dinnertime. Anything the boy could get his hands on. But the time for music dwindled as the years passed. Pressured by his responsibilities, Julian grew weary of his title of Viscount. He began to rebel, pushing back against his father's wishes and shirking his duties. Julian soon grew tired of his name as well, casting it aside in favor of something that felt more, well, _him._

The newly renamed Jaskier, fresh-faced and eager at 18, set out to make his _own_ path. A path paved by his will and his will alone. No longer would he be held down by anyone or anything. He was finally _free._

\--

“I love the way you just...sit in the corner and brood.” 

Frankly, Jaskier was having a pretty awful time at some run-down tavern in Posada. He graced the patrons with his lovely singing, only to have stale bread thrown at him in response. These people didn’t know talent when they saw it, that much was clear. Yet, it seemed his luck began to turn at the sight of a Witcher. An _infamous_ Witcher at that. What was it that they called him again? The Butcher of Blaviken? Whatever his title, Jaskier wasn’t about to let a walking storybook slip through his fingers. Oh, the songs he would write! The poems he would pen! It was almost as if fate herself had pushed this man right into his lap.

"I'm here to drink alone." 

Well, that was rude. But Jaskier was never one to be deterred. 

"Yes, well. It seems that your situation has changed, has it not?" As he slid into the chair, Jaskier noticed the glint of the two swords perched at the man's side. Best to avoid those. "Now tell me, Witcher, what is your name?" 

"Hmm." 

Receiving nothing but a grunt, Jaskier decided that this Witcher had better be worth it. He was not about to give his life away to someone who responded in hums and grunts. He had _some_ dignity thank you very much. 

"Fine then, let me take a guess." Jaskier hummed. Calling the man sitting across from him a butcher felt wrong. But he needed to come up with something quick before the other grew bored of his stalling and decided to kill him or something. A voice whispered a name in the back of his mind. That was a little weird, but Jaskier was always one to take things in stride. Perhaps it was the alcohol. The name was unlike anything he'd ever heard before, but it felt familiar. _Safe_. The name then settled bitterly on his tongue. It _was_ the Witcher's name, but it felt...off somehow. Not exactly wrong, but not right either. Jaskier didn't know how or why he knew these things, but something deep down told him that it was important. 

And then he finally remembered.

"Geralt of Rivia. That's your name, isn't it? I've heard many whispers about you Geralt. Most people say that you-"

"Do you ever shut up?" Geralt growled. His eyes narrowed as he fixed a glare on the chattering bard before him. Jaskier waved him off, shooting off a quick "no" before launching into another 30 questions. He was halfway through raving about some made-up monster when Geralt began to grumble. 

"They don't exist." 

"What?" 

"The monsters you're talking about. They don't exist." Geralt squeezed the bridge of his nose, swearing he could feel a headache coming on. “None of what you’re saying is real. Monsters are violent and dangerous. They aren't stories for your entertainment.” Looking over at the bard, Geralt resisted the urge to release the longest sigh of his life. Jaskier’s eyes were wide and a broad grin was practically splitting his face in half. 

“Oh? Do tell! I want to hear every detail! Leave nothing out; I want to know _everything_.”

The Witcher closed his eyes and released a quiet, "Fuck."

And that’s how Geralt of Rivia, mighty Witcher and Butcher of Blaviken, got saddled with a _bard_ of all people.

\--

Miles away from Posada, Yennefer was lounging about her latest house with a book in hand. She reread the last sentence for what felt like the fifth time, the words not seeming to cement in her head. She couldn't focus. Not properly, at least. There was this light tug at the core of her soul, an ache that echoed throughout her body. It forced it's way into her mind as if urging her to do something. Frustrated, Yennefer stood, skirt billowing behind her as she stalked towards the foyer. The pain had started mere minutes ago, yet it felt like it had been there forever. There was clearly something wrong with her, but she couldn't place her finger on it. Yennefer had only felt it once before, sometime around 1222, if she recalled correctly.

She began to pace, thoughts swirling around in her head. What exactly was she meant to do? What did this all mean? Yennefer hated feeling this uncertain. She was a sorceress of Aretuza, not some fragile maiden. Her thoughts were interrupted when the pain began to subside and melt into a puddle of warmth. The feeling left her with only one thought.

_Find him._

Whoever _he_ was, she would be sure to wring his neck upon their first meeting. For now, Yennefer had some research to conduct. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled: Jaskier and Yennefer's no good, very bad day.
> 
> As always, this is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own!! I apologize for such short chapters, I promise I'll try to make them longer!! Oh and, fuck you Geralt why are you so hard to write >:(

Shortly after leaving Posada, Jaskier was expected to spend virtually all his hard-earned coin on a horse. A horse. It wasn't exactly his decision, but Geralt had insisted. Jaskier felt that pissing off a monster slayer wasn't the best idea.

So he bought a horse.

Roach would have worked just _fine, thank you Geral_ _t._ Except that Geralt was like an emotionally stunted child who hated sharing.

"Don't touch Roach." he had growled. Honest to the Gods growled.  Seriously, what was Jaskier supposed to say to that? He _should've_ growled back, but then that would've been petty and stupid. Contrary to very popular belief, Jaskier wasn't an idiot. Most of the time. Despite the weird familiarity he felt around the Witcher, Geralt was a stranger.  He knew next to nothing about the man he would be traveling with, which meant that he should tread carefully for the time being. It was somewhat awkward, riding out of Posada with a man he barely knew. But hey, it happens. All Jaskier could do was roll with the punches and hope for the best.

Oh, and there were elves at one point.

To be fair, Jaskier didn't remember much of that encounter. All he knew was that Geralt got a contract for some sort of grain stealing devil. Soon after taking the job, Geralt had tracked the demon to some clearing nearby. As they entered the clearing, there was a spark of excitement that lit up Jaskier's spine. He was finally going to get some action!  He wondered briefly how popular this new song would get, thoughts swirling around in his head of all the luxuries he would finally be able to afford. Oh, the company he would keep, the food he would eat! The possibilities were practically endless.

And then he woke up to Geralt getting a nice kick in the face.

\--

If there was one thing worse than an angry sorceress, it was a sleep-deprived sorceress.  Yennefer of Vengerberg was not one to be bogged down by trivial things like sleep, but the past few days left her with an itch too big to scratch. It was taking a physical toll on her body, which hindered her chaos. And if there was one thing Yennefer would not allow, it was the weakening of her chaos. She needed to figure out who exactly she was trying to locate, so she could _finally get_ some rest.

The book in her hand was heavy and grounding, leather-bound, and covered in a thin sheen of dust. Like the rest of the library, it was useless. It held no new information, no new leads, nothing—only more ink on paper.  The urge to set the book aflame grew steadily over the next few seconds, but Yennefer ultimately decided against the idea. Destroying the books would not bring answers.

"Who are you?" she whispered, eyes slipping shut as she let out another huff of frustration. It would be just her luck that her every thought was consumed by some man, of whose name she didn't know. More than once, Yennefer was tempted to just forget about this mystery man and go about her long life. But every time, without fail, the thought brought a wave of pain. A flood of fear and sadness overwhelmed her senses, almost choking her with its intensity. It was as if her very _soul_ rejected the idea. She couldn't understand it. Why? Why her? What had she done to deserve such a cruel fate? To be bound to someone so thoroughly that the very _thought_ of their absence brought suffering? It was hell. She wouldn't wish such a thing on her worst enemy.

Finding this person was a top priority if only to sever this bond they have. It was a weakness, a hindrance to her rise to power. At least, that's what she told herself. But deep down, Yennefer was thrilled that maybe, just maybe, _she was important to someone_ _._

\--

Waking up disoriented sucked. It sucked _hard_ _._ A pulse of pain pushed against the back of Jaskier’s skull, forceful enough to elicit a low groan. Prying open his eyes, Jaskier found that his vision was blurred. His eyes wandered before landing on the vague shape of Geralt. Oh, great. The Witcher got captured too. Despite the awful situation, Jaskier’s senses came back gradually, and soon he heard the low hisses of their captors. His vision was still wonky, but he could spot pointed ears. Elves then. They were captured by _fucking elves._ Lovely.

"Looks like someone's awake." A voice cooed. It was louder than expected, and it made Jaskier's head throb. Noticing his discomfort, the voice continued. "So sorry, are you in pain?" Their voice was dripping with faux sympathy, and it made the bard scowl. He was not about to be patronized by an elf. He opened his mouth to retort and was surprised that the words came out in perfect Elder. A glance upwards showed that he had caught the elf off guard. She composed herself and sneered, before rearing back and landing a kick to his gut. The pain was second to only one thought: _Where the fuck did I learn Elder?_

\--

Geralt of Rivia was a Witcher. A mutant among men built to slay monsters. He was _not_ a bard’s babysitter. Letting the stupid human tag along had been a mistake from the very beginning. The boy was like a lost puppy, nipping at his heels for the last few days. When they had first met, Geralt felt his heart constrict, like a hand had taken hold and squeezed. He first thought the feeling was pity, but that didn't seem quite right. Two days later, and he still didn't know what that feeling was. It had lessened over time, mellowing out into a dull thrum in his chest. It was odd, Jaskier was human as far as Geralt could tell. His medallion had not vibrated once in the bard's presence.

So hearing Jaskier speak Elder was like a slap in the face. Now, humans knowing Elder wasn't uncommon, but none spoke it as fluently as Jaskier just did.  Even Jaskier himself seemed surprised by the words coming out of his mouth, which served to confuse Geralt even more. What was happening? Geralt wasn't prepared for this, he just wanted to get them out of this situation alive. He resisted the (very strong) urge to sigh, which seemed to be a constant as of late.

Bargaining with the elves was harder than expected, with the entire race out for blood. Geralt understood their craving for retribution, but a war on the humans was stupid. It would only end in tragedy on both ends.  Eventually, Filavandrel seemed to realize that Geralt was right, and they were set free. Jaskier was gifted a new lute, elven made and carved with chaos.

And with it, he made that fucking song. Geralt was _way_ too tired for this.


End file.
